


You Can Devastate Me

by ladybonehollows



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/M, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Control, Pegging, Rope Bondage, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, sub!Eliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:46:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybonehollows/pseuds/ladybonehollows
Summary: Sometimes, Eliot likes to give up control.Margo is always happy to take it.For the December prompt - Blindfold
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 18
Kudos: 123
Collections: Magicians Monthly Prompt Challenge





	You Can Devastate Me

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this swimming in my head for a little while now, and the December prompt of "blindfolds" gave me the perfect excuse to write it.
> 
> This is set vaguely in the second year of a beast-less AU where Quentin and Eliot get to be boyfriends and sometimes get fucked by their best friend Margo.

Flexing his fingers, Eliot pulled lightly at the ropes that were fitted snugly around his wrists. They were from his own collection, soft and silky but strong, and Margo’s knots were as secure as ever. Even so, it would take almost no effort to find the end of the rope with his mind, to untwist it until it loosened around his arms, until he could slip free.

Instead, he forced his focus to the things that he could feel. The pinch of the rope. The slightly cool air against his skin — enough to be comfortable when one was exerting themselves, but not so cold that it was unpleasant while he was still. The sheet that covered the mattress was soft under his knees, along his shins. The plug that filled him up was a comfortable stretch, a pleasant pressure inside him.

If he moved only slightly, shifting his weight back against his calf to press the base of the toy against his leg, he knew he’d be able to feel that pressure more firmly inside him. But he sat still. Because that was what Margo wanted.

Margo lay on the other side of the bed, her feet set on the mattress, her legs spread wide. Eliot couldn’t see Quentin’s face, but he could hear from the low sounds he made between her legs, the gasps and moans of want, all indications that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. And so was Margo — her hands were in Quentin’s hair, fingers tugging every now and then, and Eliot could almost feel the soft strands under his own fingers. Her hips rolled every now and then under Quentin’s touch, seeking the perfect spot, low moans falling from her lips every time he hit it.

She wasn’t paying Eliot any attention at all. But if he moved, he knew that she would know.

He was hard, his cock rising proudly from between his legs. He hadn’t been touched since Quentin had stripped off his clothes and _accidentally_ brushed his fingers over him as he’d pulled down his underwear, and he was aching for any kind of contact. He couldn’t see Quentin’s dick, but could see the way his hips grinded down every now and then against the bed, seeking the same kind of friction that Eliot was desperate for. _He_ didn’t get any sharp words from Margo, any warnings, but that wasn’t the game.

Not today, anyway.

Eliot’s eyes snapped back to Margo when she gasped, and then dropped back to Quentin when she fisted her hand in his hair and pulled his head back. He looked dazed, his eyes half lidded, wetness smeared around his mouth. His willpower wasn’t as strong as Margo’s — his eyes darted towards Eliot and then back again, and Eliot forced himself not to react, no matter how much he wanted to shift under his brief gaze.

Quentin licked his lips. Pushing herself up on her elbow, Margo reached down with her other hand, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and the fondness on her face was matched equally with the desire on Quentin’s. “You’re doing so good,” Margo said, and the pink that touched Quentin’s cheeks was immediate. “You know what toy I want, yeah? Fetch it for me.”

Dropping his head to press a kiss against her mound, Quentin pulled his arms back from around Margo’s legs and scrambled from the bed. He disappeared from Eliot’s sight, hurrying around to the other side of the bed behind him, and when he returned a few seconds later, he held a curved toy in one hand. He enjoyed this particular toy, and knew that Margo did as well. It didn’t fill him up as much as some of the toys that she used with the harness, but the sharevibe was appealing in other ways.

Eliot watched them hungrily as Quentin lowered himself onto the bed again, pushing Margo’s legs open wider and settling in between them. He felt it all through him, the heat in Quentin’s eyes as he looked up at Margo, and his body yearned with the need to have him look at him like that, with so much desire. The knowledge that he _did_ look at him like that only made him want it more.

A soft buzzing sound filled the room, accompanied by Margo’s gasp when Quentin slid the long part of the toy between her folds. Her whole body twitched, and then she was leaning up into it, her hips arching off the bed, her chest heaving as she sucked in a breath. “Oh, fuck,” she laughed, and Eliot looked to Quentin just in time to see the answering grin on his face, a touch of surprise that Margo was losing herself in the pleasure that he was giving her. “In me, put it —”

Quentin didn’t wait to be told twice, pulling the toy back to slip the long end of the shaft inside her. Angling the toy so that the shorter length wasn’t in his way, Quentin dropped his head, closing his lips over Margo’s clit, and her long, low moan pitched into a cry. “Fuck, fuck, I — _shit_.”

Quentin moaned, his mouth on her going sloppy, and Eliot felt himself growing impossibly harder in response. Margo’s full attention was on Quentin, if he moved she wouldn’t notice, she wouldn’t… His muscles tightened reactively around the toy in his ass, his body desperate for friction, for pressure, for something.

He clenched his hands into fists, and watched Margo fall apart under Quentin’s touch.

It couldn’t have been longer than a minute before her hips were jerking up, a shudder going through her, and another, the sounds of her pleasure falling from her lips and echoing around the room until they caught in her throat.

Her fingers twisted in Quentin’s hair, tearing him off of her, and he was breathing as heavily as she was when he pulled the sharevibe out of her and turned it off. Turning his head, he pressed his face against her thigh, but he couldn’t hide his blissed-out smile, not from Eliot. He could practically _feel_ how pleased he was, radiating from his body like energy. _My turn, kiss me, touch me, please._ Eliot caught the words before they could form, knowing that they would only make Margo draw this out longer.

They stayed that way for a few seconds, until their breathing started to even out. Margo reached down lazily, pulling Quentin up with a light touch on his chin. He still held the vibe in one hand, and she covered it with her own, guiding it back toward her, turning it so that the shorter end pressed into her. Waving Quentin’s hand away, she adjusted for a few seconds, and then stroked her hand up the length that stood up between her legs.

Quentin’s eyes were wide as he watched her, and Eliot remembered the last time that they’d used this particular toy. That had been one of Eliot’s favourites — Quentin had been on his hands and knees while Margo fucked him from behind. Eliot had knelt before him, cupping Quentin’s face in both of his hands, forcing him to keep his eyes open and on him all the while, and the power, the trust in that moment, had rocked him to his core.

Pushing Quentin back onto his knees, Margo sat up with him and straddled his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing him, thorough and dirty. Eliot watched her tongue swipe across Quentin’s lower lip and then into his mouth, and seeing the way her eyes fluttered shut at the taste of herself on his mouth — he was _covered_ with her, his lips shiny with it — the plastic dick between them, Quentin’s erection between them — _Eliot_ wanted to be between them, wanted —

_Soon._

Breaking the kiss, Margo _finally_ turned to look at him, leaning forward so that her breasts pressed firmly against Quentin’s chest. Quentin followed her gaze, his eyes dazed as they landed on Eliot. When Margo smiled at him, she was almost wicked in her sweetness.

“You’ve been good, too,” she said, reaching down to touch the vibrator briefly before crawling off of Quentin’s lap. Eliot took a deep breath, the urge to move rising in him suddenly when he knew that relief was so close. Leaning over on the bed, she patted Eliot’s cheek, her smile widening into a smirk. “You know how I want you. Don’t you, El?”

And he did. “Yes, Margo,” he said, his voice thick around the lump in his throat. It was awkward to move with his hands tied, but he managed, moving slowly to retain a semblance of grace as he shuffled around until he was facing the opposite direction, his knees near the edge of the bed.

Eliot widened his stance, his knees sliding across the bedsheet, and his breath hitched when he lost his balance, tipping forward with no way to steady himself. Warm, strong hands were on him before he could tip, and he looked up to see Quentin standing above him, one hand on his chest, his fingers curled over his shoulder, and the other cupping his cheek. “Hey,” he said quietly, his cheeks flushing red.

“Hi,” Eliot said, blinking up at him, feeling that blush spreading through his own chest.

“Oh my fucking god,” Margo said, tapping her hand on the inside of Eliot’s thighs. “You’re going to make this _soft_ , Jesus fucking Christ on a bicycle.”

The skin around Quentin’s eyes crinkled as he huffed a laugh. "He's not soft," he said, glancing down, and Eliot watched as the red spread down his neck. "Margo, I want…" He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, and Eliot wanted to give him anything he wanted, anything he could ever want. "I want to suck him."

 _Oh, fuck._ He fought to suppress the shiver that ran through him at the thought, and failed completely when he felt Margo's hand on his ass cheeks, her fingers tapping lightly at the butt plug.

Quentin's eyes were wide as he raised them, and he — fuck, he _licked his lips_. "Can I?"

The question wasn't for him. Technically, Quentin didn't need Margo's permission for anything in this scene, but Eliot knew that she'd enjoy giving it — or not giving it — anyway. "Hmm," Margo said, tugging lightly at the plug and then pressing back in, just enough for him to feel the pull of it against his rim. "Do you think he's earned it?"

“Yeah,” Quentin breathed, and just the brush of his fingers down Eliot’s throat was enough to draw a sigh of anticipation from him. Quentin bent to kiss the path his fingers made, his lips barely there against his skin, until he reached his nipple. Closing his mouth over it, he moaned, and Eliot’s breath caught from the sensation. “Yeah, he’s been good for you.”

“True,” Margo said, pulling more firmly on the plug until it slipped free, but he was only empty for a second before two fingers pushed into him, bending in a way that the toy couldn’t. He pressed back against her when her fingertips massaged his prostate, almost unbalancing again before both of Quentin’s hands grabbed his hips, steadying him. He thought that he was going to burn up from the inside out if no one touched his cock soon. “Fine, you can blow him. When I say you can.”

Closing his eyes, Eliot tried to focus on his breathing, instead of the way Margo was touching him, or the thought of how Quentin _would_ be touching him. She pulled back, teasing against his rim before pressing in against his prostate again, and Eliot grunted as he fought to keep himself calm.

He wasn’t allowed to come until she said so. He had to focus.

His heart was still pounding when Margo removed her hand. The click of the lube bottle reached his ears, and he felt Margo shift on the bed behind him. Opening his eyes, he looked down to see Quentin on his knees in front of him, his face just inches from Eliot’s dick, and it took everything Eliot had not to cant his hips forward to press the head of his cock against Quentin’s mouth.

Quentin was staring straight ahead at him as though he were thinking the same thing, which didn’t help matters _at all_.

A tug on the rope bound around his wrists pulled him back a little, and saved him from whatever punishment Margo would have dealt out for disobeying her. “Wider,” Margo said, pinching at the inside of his thigh until he spread his knees on the edge of the bed to her satisfaction, if the irritated sigh that she made when she settled her hands on his hips was anything close to that. He felt the smooth plastic of the toy, wet with lube, slide between his asscheeks, and felt his heart skip a beat. “Seriously, do you have to be so fucking tall? Ready?”

The _yes_ stalled on his lips when Quentin tilted his head back, looking up at him with wide, hungry eyes. Margo didn’t wait for it. Grabbing the rope again, she put her other hand on his shoulder, holding him still as she pressed into him, a delicious drag inside him. “Fuck,” he gasped, as she pulled out to the tip. She paused for a moment, squeezed his shoulder, and then thrust all of the way in, filling him up. “Oh fucking — fuck.”

“Eloquent,” Margo teased, pulling out slowly and then thrusting in fast, and again, and again. Eliot laughed breathlessly, pleasure thrumming under his skin at every stroke. Her stroke game was on point, brushing against his prostate every time he moved. He felt incredible. He felt — “What do you think, Q?” Margo asked, pressing in until he could feel her hips against his ass. She paused, grinding against him. “You think he’s earned it? You can blow him, if you want.”

“ _Yes_.” Eliot felt Quentin’s breath against him, felt his hand close around the base of his cock. His mouth wrapped around him before Eliot could take a breath to steady himself, and the sharp tug on his arms was barely enough to stop him from jerking forward into the heat of Quentin’s mouth.

Quentin looked up at him as he wrapped his lips around the head of his dick, sucking lightly as he pulled back. They couldn’t have coordinated it, they couldn’t have, he was pretty sure that they couldn’t even see each other, but the next time Margo thrust into him, Quentin took him in deep, and he felt them through every inch of him. The tightness of Margo’s grip, the press of Quentin’s fingers against his hip only heightened the pleasure that rolled through him to be filled up, to be surrounded, to be consumed by them both.

Quentin’s lips were tight around him, his tongue flat against his underside, and he sucked him firmly for a few seconds before his mouth slackened. He pulled back just a little, moaning before sucking on him again, squeezing his eyes shut as though _he_ were the one overwhelmed with it. Eliot trembled with the effort to keep still. It felt like he’d been waiting for this for hours. Margo had kept him naked and hard and waiting for just long enough to make him feel like he was about to burst out of his skin, but the anticipation of knowing he was coming home to this — or to _something_ , at least — all day, had him wound up tight.

Whatever semblance of control that he was trying to hold onto was frayed even further when Margo stilled behind him. Her hand left his shoulder, brushing lightly against his ass before it slipped between them. He felt the toy move slightly when Margo touched it, and then —

The vibrations of the toy trembled through him, and it didn't matter than Margo wasn't pressing against his sweet spot, he felt the movement of it anyway, and more more more when she thrust back into him all the way. Eliot let out a stuttered moan, his hands clenching into fists behind him, his hips bearing back down onto it, desperate to feel every inch of it vibrating inside him. He clenched around it involuntarily and gasped at how intense it felt.

Quentin's mouth was still on him, his blissful wet warm mouth, and he jerked his hips in small motions, wanting to sink further into him and feel full up with the vibe at the same time. Both of Margo's hands grabbed his wrists, and he felt her adjusting her stance on the bed beside him. "Go on, baby," she said. She sounded breathless, and he remembered that she was feeling the pulses of the sharevibe inside her as well. "Fuck yourself on the vibe. Fuck Q's mouth. Show us how much you want it."

He _wanted_ it, so badly he couldn't think straight, couldn't focus on anything outside of the primal urge of his pleasure. Trusting Margo to hold him up, he pushed back on the vibrator, feeling it deep inside him before pulling off it and forward into Quentin’s mouth. Quentin made a rough sound when he hit the back of his throat but didn't pull away, even chased him a little when he sank back down on the toy. Eliot couldn't help the flow of desperate noises that started to fall past his lips, a barely coherent jumble of _please_ and _fuck_ and _so good_ and _oh god oh god oh god_. He was messy, he was desperate, he was completely taken over by the sensations that he was drowning in.

It wasn't until he almost unbalanced that he came back to himself, a little anyway, enough to know that Margo had let go of his wrists. Her hands closed tightly on his hips before he could fall, stilling him, and he leaned back against her, gasping for air. Quentin pulled back, breathing just as heavily, and Eliot rolled his head forward to see his face flushed, his lips red, glistening with saliva and precum. Eliot watched his throat as he swallowed, and couldn’t stop himself from laughing helplessly. “Jesus, look at you.”

“Look at _you_ ,” Quentin said, his voice rough, and leaned forward to take him in his mouth once more.

Margo held his hips still as she started to thrust into him again, the friction and vibration of the sharevibe pressing hard into him again and again and again making him feel dizzy with pleasure. Quentin’s free hand took the place of one of hers on Eliot’s side, and she grabbed his wrists again, pulling them up, forcing his elbows to bend until his bound hands were pressing into the middle of his back, the strain on his arms just the right side of painful. Her grip forced his angle to shift slightly, and suddenly she was pressing right up against his prostate with every thrust. That, combined with the way Quentin was mouthing earnestly over his dick, had him shuddering, his balls drawing tighter with every thrust, every swipe of Quentin’s tongue, and he — he —

He had to tell her, had to make them stop. “I’m gonna… _Margo…_ ”

Margo continued to fuck into him. “Not yet,” she said firmly. “You're not going to come yet."

Eliot laughed, a hysterical sound that turned into a whine when she _didn’t stop_. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, and he tried to block out the things that they were doing to his body, tried not to think about how it felt when Quentin moaned around him, how he was _right fucking there._ “No no no no,” he said, his heart hammering in his chest, squeezing his eyes shut, and he — fuck, he _wasn’t_ going to come, not until Margo said he could, there was _one thing_ that he had to do and he could wait he could wait he could — The sound that left him was a broken thing, a terrible shudder starting within him that wasn’t controlled at _all._ “Mar — oh fuck, Margo, I —”

“Shit,” Margo muttered, finally, _finally_ stilling inside him, except — except she was into him to the hilt, the vibrating toy pressed hard against him. Quentin stilled too, except he could feel himself brushing against the back of Quentin’s throat, could feel it moving as he tried not to swallow, and he —

He cried out, a ragged shout as Margo started to thrust into him again, “You fucking asshole,” muttered under her breath, and he couldn’t stop the wave of pleasure that flooded through him again and again and again as he spilled into Quentin’s surprised throat. Shame and ecstasy filled him in equal amounts as continued to come, looking down as Quentin pulled back, Eliot’s release thick on his tongue as he lapped at his leaking head, taking everything he had with a moan.

And then he was empty as Margo pulled out, as he slipped out of Quentin’s mouth, feeling dazed from the intensity of his orgasm. Quentin’s eyes were wide as he looked up at him, reaching up to swipe his thumb across his lower lip to catch the streak of cum that had dribbled from his mouth, and Eliot shivered at the sight, his spent cock twitching half-heartedly. The only sounds in the room where his heavy breathing, the vibration of the toy, and the quiet creak of the mattress as Margo climbed off it. Anxiety was quick to pull at him, and he only got a brief look at the unimpressed expression on her face before her hand settled on his chest and she pushed him roughly back onto the mattress, his hands trapped beneath him.

“You can’t even obey the one rule that I set for you.” Eliot raised his head as best as he could to see Margo helping Quentin up from the floor. Margo was scowling. Quentin just looked dazed. “One fucking rule, Eliot.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, and then repeated it a little louder to make sure she heard him when she didn’t react. He felt…The shame felt strange under his skin. He spent so much time pulling himself above the shame that lingered in his bones, just for being who he was.

But this was different. “It’s okay,” she said, stepping around to the side of the bed and running her fingers down his cheek. Her voice was light and teasing, but he knew that she meant it, that she wouldn’t lie to him, not here, not like this. He looked down to Quentin, his eyes drinking him in as he hovered by the end of the bed, taking in the lines of his naked body, his cock standing hard before him. “You can make it up to us.”

“Please,” he said, and watched something wash over Quentin’s face, like surprise, like desire. He was always so surprised to see him like this, and if he were honest with himself, that was a part of the appeal. He and Margo had done this long before Quentin had come along, but bringing him into it had been at once terrifying and exhilarating. He’d taken to it like he was born to it, and Eliot was proud of him, so proud and so endlessly turned on by all of the things that his boy would let him do to him. Usually when they played, either the two of them or with Margo, Quentin was in this position, and he was so good at it, so incredibly needy, and Eliot loved taking care of him.

He loved being taken care of, too.

Quentin was good at that.

Margo was good at _this._

And together —

The tension on his arms disappeared, but Eliot hesitated, resisting the urge to pull them out from under him despite the fact that the strain was quickly becoming uncomfortable. Margo might have untied the spelled rope, but she hadn’t actually told him to move, and he wasn’t going to risk displeasing her again. She’d turned the vibe off but it still stood out from between her legs, a splash of purple against her skin, and he held his breath as she stroked it slowly, waiting for an indication of what he should do.

Before he could decide whether he should ask, the ropes moved underneath him again, slipping off of one wrist entirely and pulling on the other until his arm moved out from under him. A tap on his thigh and a sharp look told him to move the other to match, and he lifted it above his head when the rope pulled his other arm up. Tilting his head back, he watched as the rope twisted around his wrists, binding them together before they wrapped around the headboard. He wasn’t going anywhere, not with that enchanted rope forming perfect knots above his head. He could try and work them loose with his telekinesis, could try and break the enchantment. Not a single part of him wanted to.

When he looked back to Margo and Quentin, a stretch of material hung over her outstretched finger.

A blindfold.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” she said, taking a step closer to the head of the bed. “I’m going to put this on you. And you’re going to listen to the sound of your boy being fucked. Sound good?”

It sounded… like torture. It sounded incredible. Quentin looked like he was trembling just from the idea. “Well, if you have to,” he said, winking lazily at Quentin, hoping to make him smile, hoping he wasn't disappointed in him, hoping that he would find this anywhere near as hot as he thought it was going to be.

He did smile, an incredulous thing, and it was worth the eye roll Margo gave. Margo stepped toward him, but stopped when Quentin reached out to grab her arm. “Wait,” he said, looked quickly between them before settling on the blindfold in Margo’s hand. “Can I…?”

“Yeah, honey,” Margo said, her voice fond as she handed the blindfold over. “But make sure to tie it tight. Tangle it in his hair, he’ll love that.”

“Fuck you,” Eliot said pleasantly, feeling brave as Quentin stepped up to him.

Margo bent down, taking her hand off of the vibe to smooth her hand up his chest, pausing to twist his nipples painfully between her thumb and her forefinger. “Fuck you too, sweetie.”

Quentin rounded the bed on the other side, climbing onto it and walking forward on his knees until he reached him. His cock was hard and red, hanging heavy between his legs, and Eliot could see the wetness gathering at the tip as he moved closer. Quentin stopped, kneeling right by his waist, and Eliot forced his eyes up to meet his, taking note of the blush spreading down over his chest. "Just getting my fill in now, before you take that away from me," he said, trying to sound forlorn.

Happiness filled him when Quentin didn't shy away, didn't try to cover himself up. He'd never be the type to arch his back and show himself off, but he was far from the nervous boy he'd met last year, who didn't think that he was worth being seen. Quentin smiled at him hesitantly, like he knew what he was thinking, and Eliot tilted his head back slightly, the only _come here_ motion he could make. "Kiss me."

The smile on Quentin's face widened. He glanced toward Margo, but she didn't speak, and Eliot didn't take his eyes off Quentin. "I don't think you're in a position to be demanding anything right now," he said slowly, and oh god he was _teasing_ him.

Eliot raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Do it anyway," he challenged, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, watching him closely as he followed the movement.

His breathing hitched, and he knew that he'd won. Quentin leaned down over him, and Eliot lifted his head as best as he could, ignoring the strain in his neck, excited to kiss him deep and dirty, intent to rile him up as much as he could before Margo had her turn with him again.

But Quentin's hand settled on his cheek, curling around his jaw, and when he pressed his lips against his he was soft, soft, soft. His thumb stroked over his skin, and even when Quentin licked at his lips, encouraging them to part, even when he deepened the kiss, it was so gentle that he felt dizzy with it, warmth spreading through his chest and setting him slowly on fire from the inside out.

"Gross," Margo said, and Eliot grinned as Quentin laughed against his mouth, giving him one firm kiss before he pulled away. Eliot made a show of looking Quentin up and down once more when Quentin shuffled up the bed, the blindfold dangling from one hand. In the next moment he was gone, the room hidden from him as Quentin lowered it over his eyes, guiding his head up so that he could tie it.

Quentin’s touch was soft and careful as he knotted the blindfold behind his head, _thankfully_ not catching it in his hair. The blindfold didn’t shift when Quentin pulled his hands away, but he still heard a sigh from the other side of the bed. “Tighter,” Margo said. There was a pause, but then Quentin’s hands were on him again, tugging at the ties, and Eliot but back a gasp as it pulled tight. “See? Told you he likes it.” The bed dipped beside him, and he heard Quentin’s quiet laugh from his other side. “How many dicks am I holding up?”

His eyes were closed behind the blindfold, and all he saw was darkness. He tried to open his eyes, but the feeling of the fabric against his eyelashes was too uncomfortable for him to keep them open. “I can’t see anything.”

“Good. Come here, honey.”

She wasn’t talking to him. The bed dipped again, and he heard Quentin shuffle across the mattress. There was a wet sound, a quiet moan — they were kissing, and he felt a rush of desire run through him at the thought of them taking pleasure in each other. It was easy to conjure the image of the two of them leaning over him, Quentin’s hands in Margo’s hair, Margo’s tongue slipping into his mouth — and this was nothing yet.

He couldn’t get fully hard again, not yet, but he knew that it wasn’t going to be long before he filling out, hungry just from the quiet sounds they made above him. He wasn’t sure if Margo was going to let him come again, wasn’t sure how much she was going to drag this out… wasn’t sure how he wanted this to go. But that was okay. Margo was in charge, and he’d take whatever she let him have.

He felt a smooth leg pressing against his thigh, and tried not to press into it, tried not to shift in the opposite direction, tried so hard not to react. He could play this cool, he could lie here and not be affected by the knowledge of how they were working each other up right above him…

The sounds of kissing stopped, followed by a small sigh from Quentin, and Eliot let out the breath that had been caught in his chest.

The mattress shifted again, more obviously this time, as both Quentin and Margo moved further down the bed. Eliot was suddenly very aware of how he was stretched out, his legs slightly parted, his arms pulled up and tied to the bedhead, with his whole body on display. He wondered how he looked to them, if they were looking at him at all, if Quentin was turned on by him like this or if it was all Margo, right now. He felt like he should be surprised by the lack of jealousy at the thought, but then… this was _Margo_. The fact that he could share Quentin with her, could share her with Quentin, was more special than anything else he could have imagined.

Eliot’s breath hitched when fingers brushed against his thighs, flattening into hands smoothing against his hips and up along his sides. He arched up into it despite himself, but the touch was gone as quickly as it had come. He felt warm skin on either side of his thighs, felt the bed dip on either side of his head and could just picture Quentin, on his hands and knees above him, holding himself up and looking down at him, and... it hit him, that Margo was going to fuck him just like this, right on top of him.

When he heard the click of the cap on the lube bottle, Eliot held his breath, not wanting to miss a thing. He _felt_ it in his chest when Quentin sighed, imagined what had caused it — Margo’s fingers? Yeah, probably, slipping between his cheeks and pressing against his asshole, massaging it lightly without entering him, teasing teasing teasing until —

“Move up,” Margo said, pulling Eliot out of his thoughts. _Up?_

“Up?” Quentin asked breathlessly.

“Mmhmm.” Margo sounded pleased with herself even before whatever she did to draw a gasp out of Quentin. Eliot wanted to _see_ it, goddamn it, he wanted to touch him, touch them, feel more than just the weight of their legs against him. He fought against the urge to _move_ , to seek them out. “You’ve been so good for me,” Margo continued. “So good, baby. Eliot’s going to keep you warm while I open you up.”

 _Eliot’s… oh god_. He licked his lips, immediately aching for the taste of him. He was almost confident that he felt Quentin shiver.

“Margo,” Quentin said, his voice wavering like his body. “I wanna last for you…”

“Well someone’s gotta,” Margo said without malice, and Eliot couldn’t help his quiet huff of laughter as she tapped her hand against his thigh. He wasn’t even mad — it wasn’t his fault that she hadn’t let up on him, and if this was the worst punishment that he got, he could well and truly live with it. His skin was buzzing, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long with Quentin’s dick in his mouth before he’d be hard again. “Don’t worry, Q. He’s not going to suck you, are you Eliot? You’re going to show us that you can be good after all.”

He heard Quentin whimper, and he didn’t know if it was because of what Margo had said or something she did to him. He wanted his hands free, wanted to touch him, wanted to be able to sit up and steal that sound from his lips. “I can be good,” he said, swallowing thickly when his voice came out hoarse. “Please, Margo, I’ll be good,” he said, firmer this time, firmer but with no less desperation. Quentin’s breath caught, and Eliot would have given anything to see the look on his face.

Clenching his hands into fists, Eliot wondered whether he’d be able to tug hard enough to pull his hands free. Using his telekinesis to free himself felt like cheating. He pulled lightly, and let the bite of the rope into his skin grounded him.

He could be still. He could. He could do it.

The bed shifted underneath them when Quentin crawled up his body, not stopping until Eliot felt his thighs settle on either side of his chest. The sound of heavy breathing reached his ears, and it took Eliot a moment to realise that the sound was coming from himself. Margo settled on his stomach, leaning more of her weight on him, but she was so slight that it didn’t feel uncomfortable. “Hold onto the headboard, that’s right,” she said. “Eliot, tilt your head.”

Setting his shoulders on the bed, he lifted his head slightly, and froze when he felt something press against his lips. It was gone almost immediately, and he tasted the salt of precum when he licked his lips. 

“Open,” Quentin said, his voice rough, and Eliot did, opened his mouth and then it was there again, dragging slowly across his lower lip. It took everything Eliot had not to lick his tongue out to taste him, keeping still by the remains of his tenuous self-control. “Fuck,” Quentin murmurred.

In the next breath, he pressed forward, slipping past Eliot’s open lips and sliding along his tongue, filling his mouth. Eliot couldn’t help the moan that sounded from deep within his chest as he stretched his jaw wider to accommodate him, or the way that it stuttered when Quentin’s hips jerked forward before he could catch himself.

But he could do this. He wasn’t supposed to be getting Quentin off right now, or working him up, or doing anything other than being a warm safe space for him to be while Margo stretched him out. For the first time, he truly appreciated the blindfold, letting himself float slightly under the weight of Quentin’s hard cock on his tongue.

The sounds of Margo opening him up were a distraction that he couldn’t have ignored if he wanted to. The quiet sounds of lubed up skin mixed with Quentin’s breathing as it picked up speed, his sporadic broken groans, Margo’s satisfied hums. Quentin made small, aborted thrusts into his mouth every few seconds, an invitation to suck him down if there ever was one, but Eliot did his best to keep still. He was hard, was almost aching with it, so desperate for friction that his hips twisted against nothing, but Margo’s weight on his stomach held him down. The sharevibe pressed between them, silent for now, with one end still held inside Margo.

The taste of precum increased on Eliot’s tongue, and he fought against the urge to suck tightly around Quentin’s dick, to flutter his tongue against his head in the way he knew he liked, to raise his head further to take him into his throat. He _wanted_ to, he wanted to so badly, but Margo had told him that this is what _she_ wanted, and he’d already let her down once tonight. He trembled with the weight of his own want, but he could show them how good he could be, if this was a thing that they wanted. The angle wasn’t great — his jaw was already starting to ache, the head of Quentin’s cock pressed against the roof of his mouth, but he was going to take whatever they gave him.

Quentin’s hips stuttered forward, and then his whole body shuddered, the low moans that had steadily filled the room quickly becoming more broken. “Margo,” he cried, and Eliot dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to balance the way the sound echoed through every inch of him. “Oh, I — Margo, I — I’m close —”

He barely heard Margo’s pleased hum under Quentin’s cries. “You wanna come like this? Or do you want to come on my dick?”

The only response Eliot heard was a broken curse, but in the next instant he was gone, and it wasn’t Eliot’s fault at all if he leaned his head forward instinctively, chasing the taste of Quentin on his tongue, licking out and meeting only air. Quentin leaned back, settling lightly on his chest, his thighs trembling against him. His heavy breathing echoed in his ears, and Eliot slowly lowered his head back onto the bed, taking in a deep breath himself. His lips were wet with saliva, and when he licked them he tasted bitterness as well. He heard Quentin’s breath catch, and rolled his lower lip between his teeth, just in case he was watching him.

There was the slick sound of lube, and a quiet moan. “I think you’re ready to take my cock now,” Margo said. Her hand brushed against his stomach, slipped between them, and then the sharevibe was vibrating against his skin, making him jump slightly. “Are you ready?”

“Just give me a minute.” Qunetin’s voice sounded steadier, but not easy with it.

“Okay, honey, whatever you need,” Margo said. They were both quiet for a few seconds, and then, “And look! It turns out Eliot can be well behaved after all. He was good for you, right, Q?”

Quentin whimpered. “Fuck, Margo. I mean it, you gotta — shit, I really need a minute,” he said, the words a hoarse jumble, and Eliot flushed at the knowledge that just the thought of him behaving well for them had Quentin set on edge.

They _had_ to play with this dynamic more.

It was a few minutes before Quentin’s breathing started to even out. Eliot hoped that Margo was being gentle with him — as much as he liked testing his boundaries, he knew that they’d had Quentin worked up for a while too, now, and if he wanted to come with the vibe in him, then he should get to have that. Fuck, Eliot wanted to see it. Wanted to touch him, to kiss him. Instead, he waited with a facade of patience until the two of them pulled back. “I know you’ll want to look at El’s face, even if he can’t look at you back,” Margo said as they settled down over his hips, and he was pretty sure — no, he was certain, considering where the insides of Quentin’s thighs brushed against the outside of his, he was certain that if he flattened his feet on the mattress and lifted his hips, he’d align with the hard line of Quentin’s cock.

But he didn’t.

Because he was being _good_.

It took everything that he had to _be good_ when Quentin moaned low and long. He heard the slick sound of Margo pressing into him, felt the warmth of Quentin’s exhale over his chest, and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t see them. He was right in the middle of it, caught between Quentin’s shuddering whine and the shift of his weight on the bed.

“Fuck, Q,” Margo gasped, and — oh _god,_ the combination of the soft slap on skin on skin, the differences in the sounds the vibrator made, the movement of the mattress under him all combined to tell him just how the two of them were moving together on top of him. “Look how easily you open up for me, you’re so good for me too, aren’t you?” Quentin let out a choked moan, and Eliot knew that it was exactly the reaction she was hoping for. “You’re loving this, aren’t you, baby?” Her thrusts picked up speed, and Eliot shivered as the sounds that fell from their lips joined into a chorus of pleasure, an orchestra that was as much about him as he was separate from it.

And he was caught, if the delighted sound Margo made was anything to go by. “Mmm, look at him. Look at how much he’s loving all of the things I’m doing to you. You getting off on the sound of me fucking your boy, Eliot?”

His cock, painfully hard again, twitched between his legs, straining for attention, but he knew that wasn’t how this worked. He wanted to feel him, more than just the brush of their thighs together, more than just his breath against his chest. Quentin cried out, and Eliot wanted to take him deep in his throat again, wanted to fill him up, wanted to push inside him alongside the vibe and feel the tremors of it all through him. He _wanted_ , he wanted so badly that his head swam with it.

He was expecting that he’d have to wait for _anything_ , so he jumped a little when Quentin’s chest dropped down onto his, his face pressing against the base of his neck. Eliot tugged at the binds around his wrists, desperate to put his arms around him. For a moment he seriously considered burning the ropes just to free his arms, but Quentin was gone before he could give into the urge, yelping loudly as he lifted up off of Eliot’s torso. He _knew_ how to make Quentin make that sound, the way to twist his fingers in his hair and _tug_ to make him whine so prettily.

Quentin was crying out in time with the slap of skin on skin, and Eliot lost himself in the sounds of Margo fucking into him earnestly. She swore, a filthy tirade until she abruptly went silent, and all movement stopped for a second before she let out a long moan, and Eliot felt her hips jerking forward into Quentin.

The movement stopped above him, and Eliot’s body thrummed under the sounds of their heavy breathing. The buzzing continued, and it wasn’t long before Eliot felt Quentin’s hips rocking back against the toy. There was a hitched breath, a low moan, and — and Margo was fucking into him again, short sharp movements that had Quentin shuddering above him. He was close, Eliot could tell from the pitch of his cries, and would have given anything in that moment to see the furrow of his brow, his eyes wide with incredulity, the tremble of his lower lip.

“Touch yourself,” Margo gasped, stealing the breath from Eliot’s chest, and then Quentin’s weight was shifting to one side, _oh oh oh_ falling from his lips until it stretched into one long sound.

“Yeah, yeah Q,” Eliot said, breathing heavily. “Come on, baby, come for us,” and the shattered sound that tore from Quentin’s chest was perfection.

Eliot arched off the bed with the first stripe of cum against his skin. Quentin’s moans flooded through him, taking him over as warmth continued to splatter over his stomach and his chest. Eliot moaned when he felt it on his cock, and again when Quentin slumped down on top of him. His whole body was still trembling, his twitching, leaking dick pressed against Eliot’s, and Eliot's body was on fire for how good it felt. He couldn't stop himself from grinding up against him, too worked up to think about anything other than the way Quentin felt on top of him, but the only response he got was a choked off moan that Quentin buried in the side of his neck.

The buzzing turned off, and for a few seconds the only sounds were Quentin and Margo’s laboured breathing. Quentin’s breath hitched, and then the bed shifted as Margo climbed off of him, followed by Quentin a moment later. But Quentin, at least, didn’t move far, spreading out on the bed beside him and tracing a hesitant finger along Eliot’s stomach. Through the cum, he realised. “Shit,” Quentin breathed.

He could only imagine what he looked like. Quentin’s finger slid over his hipbone, and he felt it in his cock, so close and aching for attention. “See something you like?” he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice light.

“Mmm.” Quentin’s hand left him, and he barely had time to protest before his fingers were brushing against his lips. Eliot parted them eagerly, wrapping his tongue around his fingers as he slipped them into his mouth, tasting the heady saltiness of his release.

He hadn’t realised that Margo had left the bed, but he felt it dip when she settled on it once more. “I think he’s made it up to us. Don’t you, Quentin?”

“Yeah,” Quentin said. “He’s been good.”

Eliot felt a thrill at the praise. He sucked on Quentin’s fingers when he curved them slightly to press against his tongue.

“So good for us, El,” Margo said, and Eliot fought to keep his hips still. He heard the sound of kissing, and Quentin’s fingers slipped from his mouth. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to allow it, but you can finish him off if you want.”

Before Eliot’s heart could finish stuttering, Quentin’s warm mouth was wrapped around him, and he cried out, thrusting up before he could stop himself. Quentin made a choking sound, but only took him deeper, holding him for a few long, incredible seconds before pulling back. “Fuck, Q,” Eliot gasped, before the words dissolved into a moan when he closed his mouth around the head of his dick, sucking on him until he was trembling. He shouldn’t be this close again already, but it turned out that listening to your best friend fucking your boyfriend made for excellent foreplay.

Quentin’s hand was wrapped around the base of his cock, and he shifted the angle to curl his fingers around Eliot’s balls. He rolled them under his fingers as he sank down over his cock again, and Eliot tugged uselessly at the ropes around his wrists. He needed… fuck, he needed _something._ “Margo, let me — please let me — I wanna see him, I need to, please —”

He froze in surprise when he felt Margo’s hands on his head. The blindfold came off, and his eyes flew open, closing again immediately at the brightness of the room. He blinked open more slowly, and caught the smug look on her face as she stretched out beside him.

Looking down, Eliot’s breath caught in his throat. His skin, flushed and streaked with cum. Quentin’s head between his legs, his mouth sinking down down down over his cock. And _— oh_ — his eyes were open too, looking up at him as his cheeks hollowed. His other hand slipped between them, stroking between his cheeks, and Eliot sobbed with pleasure as he sank two fingers straight into him, massaging his prostate incessantly. Eliot shuddered, and gasped when Quentin leaned back to focus on the head of his cock, his tongue working over him, saliva and precum leaking down his length.

Margo’s fingers tweaked at his nipple, the sharp sensation a glorious contrast to the sensations Quentin was pulling from his body. Her hand flattened on his stomach, and he watched hazily as it trembled beneath her palm, as his thighs shook around Quentin’s head. “I’m gonna — please, Margo, I —”

“Go on,” Margo murmured against his temple, her lips brushing his skin. “Fill him up, honey.”

Letting go was a sweet release, pleasure shaking through him as he spilled into Quentin’s mouth for the second time that night. Quentin moaned wetly around him, and it felt just as good as the vibrations from the toy earlier. He pulled hard on the ropes, crying out as Quentin worked him through his orgasm, until he collapsed back onto the bed. Margo's fingers threaded through his hair, a stark contrast to most of the ways she'd touched him tonight, and it felt good, soothing after a night of heightened emotions.

Quentin's fingers stilled and then slipped out, but his mouth stayed on him, light and warm until Eliot started to soften. Pulling back, Quentin smiled up at him, his face flushed, before he pressed a barely-there kiss to the inside of his thigh, so light that it almost tickled. "Q," he said, his voice rougher than he'd expected. Quentin lifted his head, and Eliot tilted his. "C'mere."

His smile softening, Quentin crawled up his body and stretched out beside him, mirroring Margo. Eliot drank in the sight of him, a precious treasure after being in the dark for so long. A treasure that had cum smeared across his chest from when he'd pressed against him before. Eliot opened his mouth to tell him just how good a look this was for him, but Quentin stole the words from his lips when he took his face between both hands and kissed him.

It was soft and tender, staggeringly so after feeling so stretched and on edge for so long. Quentin’s thumbs stroked at his cheeks as he smiled against his lips, and warmth ignited in Eliot's chest and spread right through him, every inch of him consumed by the way Quentin loved him.

When he pulled back, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Eliot stared up at him in awe. "Hi," he said, like an absolute dork, and Eliot huffed a breathless laugh.

"Hi."

Margo tutted on his other side, and he turned towards her just in time to see her rolling her eyes. "Hi," she said sarcastically, and Eliot jumped when she slapped a damp cloth on his stomach. Quentin snorted, and Eliot grinned at Margo when he saw her eyes twinkle with amusement.

Quentin had already started wiping Eliot's skin clean. Glancing above his head, Eliot tugged lightly on the rope before looking back to Margo. "You gonna keep me like this all day, or…?"

She made a show of considering it. "It would give my room some flair," she mused, but her fingers were already flowing through the tuts to release him. His arms dropped as soon as the ropes started to unravel, and he flexed his fingers, rubbing his wrists and relishing in the burn he felt.

He'd have marks for a day or two. He'd decide later if he wanted to hide them or not.

Right now, he was concerned with movement. Sitting up, he rolled his shoulders, loosening the stiffness in them. He felt Margo's hands on his back, and as she smoothed them up to his shoulders, the stiffness melted away.

He started to turn around, but instead those hands on his shoulders pulled him down, and he found himself with his head on Margo's stomach. She'd propped herself up with most of the pillows tucked behind her, and Eliot didn't begrudge her a single one. "Thank you," he said.

They both knew that he didn't mean the ropes, or the muscle relaxant spell. Or not just that, anyway. He felt light in a way that he hadn’t for weeks. He knew that this was something that she enjoyed too, but that didn't mean that he appreciated her doing this for him any less. Her hand sank into his hair, her fingers scratching at his scalp, a silent acknowledgement, a _you're welcome_ , an _I love you._

Quentin slotted in beside him, and Eliot wrapped his arms tightly around him, thrilled that he was finally able to do so.

This, right here. This was everything he needed.


End file.
